


them boys up to something

by moons0ng



Series: what a time (to be alive) [1]
Category: Men's Basketball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M, Post-game hook-up, Rookie Steph, Rough Sex, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 14:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons0ng/pseuds/moons0ng
Summary: in which lebron scores both on and off the court.





	them boys up to something

**Author's Note:**

> set in the 2009-10 season, [Steph's rookie year](https://statics.sportskeeda.com/editor/2018/06/a7da6-1527881316-800.jpg)

He slammed the ball hard into the ground as the final buzzer sounded to signal the end of the fourth quarter. The game was over. The ball flew right back into his grip as he looked around, surveying the now-emptying arena, the Bay area crowd that had been noisy enough all night finally drooping to a murmur as the referee came to accept the ball from him. A pleasant thrum of energy filled the air, the kind that always lingered after a win, the kind that had never really gone away for long since he’d begun playing.

He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it — winning games, even somewhat lopsided games like this had been, hitting shots toward the end that took the breath out of the crowd, seeing the expressions of the opposing players as time ticked off the clock and their doom approached and they accepted the loss.

He’d never experienced anything else that could begin to compare. Nothing had ever satisfied him like basketball had, not even sex, although it came close. And even after six years playing in the league, it still felt new almost every time — all games were different, each had their own pace, their own rhythm, and the win went the way of the game, different each time. 

This win had felt good. He’d stepped back to drain one final shot as the clock had run out, and his adrenaline hadn’t slowed for a second as he’d watched it fall seamelessly through the net, barely making a sound. 

He stepped back into the present as he followed the rest of his team over to the opposing side’s bench, shaking hands quickly, the way they always did, not even looking each other in the eyes. It was nothing personal, just an acknowledgement that a basketball game had indeed been played, that one side had won and the other lost. It was different when you had friends on the other team, but LeBron barely knew any of these players, except for one.

He saved shaking Steph’s hand for last.

The younger player stood up straighter as he approached him, but LeBron still towered several inches above him, and swallowed him up in terms of muscle. He knew Steph had taken some flack throughout his basketball career for his relatively small frame, and while he looked younger by far than anyone else on the court, Steph didn’t need immense strength for the way he played, as someone who was primarily a jumpshooter. 

Unaware of LeBron’s thoughts, Steph’s hand slid smoothly into LeBron’s outstretched hand. “You played pretty good tonight,” LeBron said, and broke the unwritten rule as he looked him directly in the eyes. “You’ve gotten better handling the ball since I seen you in college.”

An indecipherable expression crossed Steph’s face briefly, perhaps unsure how to take a compliment from a person who’d just beaten him soundly, maybe doubting its sincerity. But then he smiled sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. “Thanks, man,” he said. His voice had surprised LeBron the first time he’d heard him talk — it was too deep and smooth to fit with his face, his big green eyes, his hair cut short to his head. “It was kinda crazy playing against you, even though we lost. Kinda feel like things are coming full circle, you know?” 

He smiled half-heartedly again at the end of his sentence, biting his lip as he looked up at LeBron, who felt something in his stomach twist in interest. He’d been interested for a while, in all honesty. Steph had been incredibly complimentary every time he’d spoken about him, even to LeBron’s face, so at first he’d attributed the surge of emotion he felt around Steph simply to pride at having his ego stroked, but at one point, watching Steph chew on his mouthguard, his lips shiny and slick with spit, he’d been forced to recognize it as desire, plain old attraction. 

He drew himself out of his thoughts, letting go of Steph’s hand, brain already working ahead of himself. It was possible that it was all for naught, but still. There was something about the way Steph was always wide-eyed around him, barely concealing his awe the first few times they’d met in person, the way he seemed so sincere, the way he still hadn’t moved away even though they were standing almost chest-to-chest...

LeBron smirked in a way he knew came off as cocky, and Steph’s cheeks darkened almost unnoticeably, chewing on his lip as if he’d forgotten he didn’t have his mouthguard in anymore. He took in Steph’s flushed appearance, the way he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Some people stereotyped athletes as being dumb, something he’d never understood — you had to be smart to be a good basketball player, to read people’s faces to see where they’d be moving with the ball, to remember plays, to allow things to change at the spur of the moment and to adapt. The things he understood about basketball, the way he could picture an entire play unfolding in front of him just from one small movement — those things carried over off the court, helped him read people, helped him imagine possibilities and consequences. 

Holding up his towel to cover his mouth, hiding his words from any cameras, LeBron stepped an inch closer, bending down so his lips almost touched Steph’s ear, fingers twitching as Steph’s breath hitched. “You want to meet me outside the locker room after this?” he asked. “I ain’t been in the Bay for a while. You gotta show me where the good places are to eat around here.” 

Steph’s eyes widened slightly as if he was surprised at the invitation. Some people, especially newer players, expected opponents to treat each other like enemies, but that was rarely the case. And while LeBron would usually never invite an opposing player out after a game, he was willing to make Steph an exception. And so was Steph, apparently, who got himself back under control quickly.

“Uh, yeah,” he said after a couple seconds of hasty deliberation, running his hand over the back of his neck uncertainly. “Yeah, for sure, man.” He flicked a nervous glance over his shoulder at his teammates, who were starting to leave the court. “I’ll see you,” he said, fingers brushing against LeBron’s arm before he turned around and headed out, sliding in amongst the older players on his team. 

—————————————————————

The arena was mostly empty as LeBron left the locker room after allowing himself a leisurely shower, clad in well-worn sweatpants and an old Cavs hoodie, the rest of his stuff shoved in a duffle bag over his shoulder. A few employees lingered along the hallways, but almost all the other players had cleared out, so he didn’t bother trying to be discreet as he looked for Steph, who he found sitting on the floor outside the locker room looking down at his phone, his knees drawn into his chest tightly. 

He looked different out of uniform and off the court, somehow even younger, LeBron thought as he walked over quietly, the other player still unaware of his presence until LeBron cleared his throat. 

Steph jumped slightly, looking up. He was wearing a vintage-looking Charlotte Hornets shirt, which stumped LeBron momentarily until he remembered hearing his dad had played there for a decade or so back in the nineties. That had been all anyone had talked about for the most part the year Steph had gotten drafted — his father’s extensive NBA career, how Steph had as a kid gotten to play one-on-one with NBA veterns like Vince Carter, how his dad had forced him to fully reform the way he shot the basketball. It was a childhood very different from LeBron’s. 

Steph smiled, embarrassed as his lack of perceptiveness. “Hey,” he said, as he accepted LeBron’s offer of an extended hand to pull him to his feet. “What’s up?”

He must have used too much force, or maybe Steph was smaller than he thought, because he ended up with an armful of him, all clean-smelling and soft, the lignering scent of sweat filtering through. “Hey,” LeBron replied, stepping back despite the itch to push even closer. “I’m parked outside. You ready?” 

—————————————————————

Sitting down at a table too low for his knees to fit properly under, LeBron took a bite of his (surprisingly good and greasy — Steph had good taste) burger as he ran his eyes over the man sitting across from him. 

His own rookie season felt incredibly distant at this point, like something from another lifetime, but Steph was just entering his own. It was an odd thought, that their lives were intersecting right at this moment. He wondered how the other player was handling it all — getting drafted, moving out to California when he’d lived on the east coast most of his life, going to the Warriors of all teams. It was a lot, and it happened fast. He knew that as well as anybody.

“You grown up a lot since I watched you play at Davidson,” LeBron said, popping a fry into his mouth and continuing to talk around it. “Shoot the ball just as good and get around on the court better, even with those big guys out there. I can tell you gon’ be alright, even though we won.” 

Steph watched him talk almost without blinking, reminiscent of the way he’d stared at him on his way down the court in that game against NC State in college after he’d gotten that huge offensive rebound and drained a deep three, eyes fixed on his as his team celebrated. 

“It’s good to see,” LeBron continued. “I can always use more competition.” He winked as he said it, taking some of the arrogance out of his words, and Steph finally looked down, shrugging his shoulders bashfully, rubbing his nose as he thought of how to respond.

He rested his elbow on the table, propping his chin in his hand, looking up at LeBron through his eyelashes. “Thanks,” he said, smiling lopsidedly. “We may not really be competition for you yet, but I’ll get there someday. Gotta beat you eventually. That’s the goal.”

He’s such a good kid, LeBron remembered hearing everyone say when he’d first become part of the national conversation during Davidson’s Cinderella run. From an NBA family, but still as humble as anyone. It was true, he remembered having thought at the time. And it was still true. 

“I think you gon’ do alright,” he repeated. The sun had already set outside, and it was growing increasingly dark in the parking lot. The limited lighting in the restaurant they were in framed Steph very well, and he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the younger man’s cheekbones, his lips, his eyelashes. 

“I hope so,” Steph said agreeably. 

And then they talked about Steph’s time at Davidson, what it had been like leading a team like that against teams that were more well-known at the time, what it had been like for Steph to become so talked-about so quickly. And they talked about the draft, and about Steph’s parents, and LeBron found out that Steph had been born in Akron just like him, and as their conversation started to dwindle, LeBron could see Steph almost visibly relax, his smile coming more easily and his words less carefully-chosen, his cheeks almost permanently tinted pink. He would never use the word cute to talk about another basketball player, except as an insult, but he was having a hard time coming up with a more applicable word.

—————————————————————

“It was cool to get to hang out with you,” Steph said as they sat waiting for the check. He was leaning forward slightly in his seat, unable to keep his eyes fixed on LeBron for too long before flicking away. “You—I really appreciated you supporting me in college, and stuff, so it was kinda weird to play against you. But I hope we can beat you sometime.” He grinned as the waitress reappeared at their table, handing LeBron the check. 

“We’ll see about that,” LeBron responded, unable to keep from being competitive for too long. “You might have to drop fifty for that to happen.” 

He pretended not to notice how the waitress lignered at the edge of the table for a second too long, her eyes skimming over him, the number scrawled in purple ink on the recepit. He could see that Steph noticed, though, his body growing slightly tenser, lips turning down at the corners almost imperceptibly. Goddamn right, LeBron thought internally, feeling heat rush through his body at Steph’s reaction.

He paid without offering to split the bill before meeting the younger player’s eyes with a question. “I got a hotel room for the night outside of town. You want to come over and watch some shit on TV? I’d say we could get drunk, but you might be too young for that — I can’t remember how old you are,” LeBron said, unable to resist the jab at the end. 

“Oh,” Steph said softly, surprised. “Um. Sure, if you’re sure you want me to. I don’t want to intrude or whatever if you were just planning on going to sleep or something.” His movement had stilled at LeBron’s question, and now he was sitting just looking at LeBron with those eyes, and LeBron felt like he was going to break something if he didn’t get to just—

“‘Course I want you to,” he scoffed. “You gotta be better company than an empty hotel room. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” He banged one of his knees against the edge of the table as he stood up, spitting out an expletive more loudly than was acceptable in a restaurant, and Steph burst into giggles, hiding his laughter behind his hand. 

LeBron punched him in the arm weakly in retaliation on the way out, regretting it slightly when it caused Steph to stumble, at least until the younger man started laughing again, calling LeBron’s punch weak and saying that it hadn’t hurt at all. 

—————————————————————

Steph protested LeBron’s earlier dig at his age on the way back to the car, assuring LeBron that he was twenty-one, had turned twenty-one even before the draft that spring, so he was definitely allowed to drink alcohol if he wanted. “You’re only like three years older than me,” he complained, hand grazing against LeBron’s side as he stepped past him on his way around to the passenger side door. 

“Yeah, but I got like six NBA years on you,” he replied, pretending to act disgruntled. “So that means I win.” 

Steph mocked him as he climbed inside the car, muttering I win in a high-pitched voice under his breath, and LeBron had to hold back a smile. The other player would do well with the media, he thought, as everything he said somehow made him more likeable. But maybe he was biased.

He’d watched an interview some radio personality had done once with Steph’s coach at Davidson, where he’d talked about why everyone that met Steph or watched him play ball felt so drawn to him. The man, a fully grown adult man, had said he couldn’t think of another word to describe the energy Steph carried with him except for “attractive.” LeBron had rolled his eyes listening to him, but it was hard to deny that the word was fitting.

There was something about Steph, the way he was able to transition so quickly and seamlessly from the sweet, carefree kid off the court into a silent professional player on the court, that was irresistable. And maybe it was the way he’d been raised, but he was incredibly good at talking to people, making it difficult not to root for him. 

Hard indeed, he thought as Steph buckled himself in before shoving his hands between his thighs, not sure what to do with them. 

“You see that waitress gave me her number?” LeBron asked as he started the car, just to create tension. As expected, Steph did grow tenser, shifting in his seat slightly, looking out the window before looking back at LeBron. “Bet she would’ve gave you her number too if she knew you were an NBA player.” 

Steph laughed bitterly, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, man. I’m not you,” he replied. “I’m not—not with all that, anyways.” He trailed off at the end, rubbing his lip with his thumb unsurely.

LeBron allowed himself the indulgence of thinking that Steph saying he wasn’t “with all that” was meant as a hint. He wasn’t sure if Steph had meant to say that — probably not, by the way he was biting his fingernail — but it gave him a boost of confidence that the night would be ending the way he’d wanted it to since he’d set foot in the arena that evening and had seen Steph across the court. 

“How far is it to the hotel?” Steph asked, changing the subject. LeBron allowed it.

“Couple minutes,” he said, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. Steph relaxed in his seat, apparently relieved LeBron hadn’t addressed his slip of the tongue. For a second, seeing how comfortable Steph looked even here, sitting side-by-side with one of the best players in the league, he could see how some people might grow to resent Steph if he became more well-known. The other player was just that — comfortable. Seemingly in any situation, he was comfortable. He played more like a veteran point guard, than a rookie, and he’d been around the game for so long that it was impossible to overlook that kind of privilege.

LeBron had grown up differently, and he tended to resent people like Steph, who the worst thing he’d had to contend with was that recruiters thought he was a little bit too small. He couldn’t resent Steph, though, who took everything in stride and just went out and played basketball, and loved it. 

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm with the radio. Some sensual 90s R&B song he couldn’t recognize was playing, one Steph apparently knew from the way his lips were moving along to the lyrics. LeBron wasn’t certain if he realized he was doing it, so he reached out to turn the volume up. Steph stopped, and his cheeks turned pink as he looked away. 

“What do you usually do after games?” LeBron asked over the music, looking over at Steph whose legs were sprawled out in front of him, barely visible in the darkness of the night. “You have some kinda routine?”

The night air outside the car was muggy and unseasonably warm, made visible in the trickle of sweat rolling down the side of Steph’s neck. The sun had set hours earlier, and it was difficult to see clearly, but that didn’t keep Lebron’s eyes from being glued to his face, watching him lick his lips before answering.

“I guess so,” Steph said, thinking about it. “Eat something I probably shouldn’t, watch TV, go to sleep. Call my parents, maybe. My dad always likes to talk about my games after they happen.” He smiled wryly. “What about you?”

His lips were parted as he looked over at LeBron, who wrenched his eyes back onto the road. He could see the hotel’s sign in the distance, and flicked on his turn signal. “Mine’s a little different,” he replied, slowing the car. “Have a beer, jerk off, fall asleep.” He felt more than saw Steph blush at his openness, laughing awkwardly. 

“Cool,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “When I got a triple-double one time, some of my teammates bought me drinks, which was pretty fun.” 

“Yeah?” LeBron asked. “You call and ask your mom’s permission first?” He couldn’t resist prodding at what seemed to be a sensitive spot with Steph – that fact that having spent three years in college before declaring for the draft, three more years than LeBron had, he still seemed younger than anyone else. 

Steph let out a loud groan, sliding down in his seat. “Stop it,” he said, covering his face with his hands. “I really don’t look that young, I swear.” LeBron laughed out loud at his theatrics as they pulled into the parking lot, taking a jab at Steph for being so easily baited into frustration. Steph continued to complain as he grabbed his backpack from the back seat where he’d thrown it earlier. LeBron hummed in agreement with him as they checked in, taking his key card from the receptionist, guiding Steph to the elevator with a hand on his lower back.

“Goddamn, I feel like I need to take a shower,” LeBron announced as they entered the room, flicking on the light switch and letting the door shut heavily behind Steph, locking it. “I mighta sweat more in the car on the way here than in that whole game.” 

Steph scoffed. “Now you’re just bragging, saying you didn’t even need to sweat to beat us,” he said sarcastically, grinning. His skin looked like it was glowing in the lamp-light of the hotel room, and LeBron couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to grab him by his smaller biceps, shove him against the wall, and just—

Shit, he needed to get laid. Just being in a room with someone he wanted to fuck shouldn’t have his dick half-hard, but LeBron was getting there, he thought, as he pushed at Steph for the sarcastic remark, slipping past him into the bathroom, and turning the shower on, letting it heat up first. 

He calmed down in the shower, letting the water rinse away his sweat, and a few minutes later, after tugging on a pair of loose black basketball shorts that rode his hips low, he left the bathroom shirtless, towel slung over his shoulder. He could feel Steph’s eyes on him like a laser as he walked over to the fridge to get a Gatorade. Even when he sat down on the couch, only a few feet away from Steph, the smaller player was still staring, roaming over his chest, his biceps. He felt desire like a flutter in his stomach, his thighs tensing, his hands kept purposely in his lap.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Steph, who visibly flinched at the eye contact, caught out. “I’m...” Steph said, trailing off, looking somewhere into the distance, not looking at LeBron. “I’m—I’m gonna take a shower, too, if that’s okay.” 

LeBron grinned shamelessly as Steph hastily grabbed his backpack and made his way into the still-humid bathroom, clearly flustered. He wasn’t trying to be arrogant, really, didn’t mean to be showing off, but sometimes he liked having his ego boosted. With Steph, he was so blatant with his admiration that it was obvious, and LeBron enjoyed it greatly, knowing he had affected him just by existing, by being in the same space as him.

He turned his attention to the show Steph had been watching, something on ESPN, some analyst screaming about something, despite the background noise of the Steph showering making it somewhat difficult to focus. He’d just taken a sip of his drink and set it back down on the table next to the couch, when the bathroom door opened. 

Steph stood there for a few seconds, his gaze flicking between LeBron and the TV and the empty seat next to him on the couch, obviously uncertain what his next move should be. That was fine. LeBron would more than happily take control of this situation. 

Besides, he knew exactly what his next move was going to be. Steph, standing there, skin damp and flushed, was still wearing his oversized Charlotte shirt plus some clashing Warriors practice shorts, and he was biting his lip and just...waiting. LeBron wanted to—to—it took him a few seconds to identify the exact feeling, but he realized he was viewing Steph the same way he viewed the start of a basketball game, right before he took it over, in the first few heart-pounding seconds before the whistle blew and the first quarter began. He was not remotely surprised to be equating basketball with sex — that was how it had always been, for him.

Steph cleared his throat, still uncertain. LeBron tore his eyes away from Steph’s thighs, and spread his legs out slightly. “C’mere,” he said, tracking the other man with his eyes as he slowly walked over to stand only a few inches away from LeBron, his hand resting on the back of the couch. Steph’s lips were parted, his tongue flicking out over them absentmindedly, still missing that mouthguard. “You’re gonna have to tell me if I’m reading this shit right.”

His voice came out deep, rough, heated. Wanting.

Steph’s whole body seemed to shudder, chin dropping to the side like a marionette whose strings had just been cut. He shuffled forward another inch until his leg bumped into LeBron’s knee hesitatingly. He pressed his knee into the couch cushion only a centimeter away from LeBron’s thigh, his body achingly close. 

LeBron’s hand came up to rest at Steph’s hip automatically, brushing his thumb over the waistband of his shorts, pushing his shirt up to reveal an inch of his smooth tanned skin. Steph blushed, fingers trembling on the couch, and LeBron knew he had him. He could feel Steph’s skin shiver beneath his fingers, goosebumps on his arms. 

LeBron wanted to take him apart, figure him out, push him deep into the couch, make him come apart. 

“Reading what right?” Steph asked, playing obtuse. He sounded almost wrecked, and LeBron hadn’t done anything yet, hadn’t even touched him. He wondered, for a second, if Steph had been with other men in the past (surely, he thought), if they’d fucked him like LeBron wanted to, if Steph had liked it. He knew what he wanted to imagine. 

Steph’s eyes flicked down at him, and LeBron dug his fingers in harder into his hip unconsciously, making the smaller man sway towards him.

Using his hand at Steph’s waist, he pulled him towards him until he had nowhere to go but to settle into LeBron’s lap, legs split open across his muscular thighs. Steph let out a shaky breath, letting his hands rest nervously at LeBron’s shoulders, feeling the strength of his muscles. No turning back now, no denying that this is what was happening. LeBron took a second to marvel at his own luck before answering.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he asked, phrasing it carefully as he ran one big hand up Steph’s back while gripping his thigh tightly with the other. Steph ducked his head down towards his chest again, nervous. 

He grabbed Steph’s chin with one hand, forcing eye contact. He smirked at the way the other player’s face instantly turned a darker shade, and pressed his fingers into his jaw harder. Steph nodded shakily, his thighs tensing around LeBron’s hips. “Yeah, okay,” he answered finally, and LeBron’s smile became blinding. 

Keeping his hold on Steph’s chin, he pulled him closer until their chests were almost pressed together, their lips only a breath apart. And normally he wouldn’t go this slow, but this was different. He felt, for some reason, like any sudden movement might spook Steph, might make him realize how unlikely this was, so he went slow. He could feel the younger man’s hesitation, too uncertain to make the first move, so LeBron moved first, like he always did.

_No hesitation. Take the ball up the court, push it._

Steph gasped as their lips met, LeBron’s hand roaming over his back up under his shirt, parting his lips and allowing himself to melt completely into LeBron’s hold, tension disappearing. He was like liquid in his grasp, sliding through his fingers fluidly, as LeBron’s hands travelled lower, skimming Steph’s thighs.

_Call the play, take control of the game._

He cupped the back of Steph’s head, tilted it to the side, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, mouthing over it, wet and rough. Steph let out a quiet “Fuck” as LeBron continued, forcing himself even closer, arms wrapping around him until Steph was the only thing on his mind.

He drew back for a second, watching the smaller man’s eyelids flutter heavily as a string of spit connected their lips before drawing him back in, biting hard on his lower lip, making Steph moan, the whole thing feeling all too natural. Too natural, the way Steph opened up for him so easily, giving him exactly what he wanted, letting him take it. In the past, he’d often had to fight for the things he wanted, but Steph was handing himself over on a silver platter.

“Knew you would be easy for me,” he said, pulling back, feeling Steph’s hands press into his shoulders. “You like this for everybody who wants it, or am I special?” He had a feeling that it was a little of both, that Steph liked affection, liked being touched, no matter who it came from, which wasn’t a bad thing. It was just clear he gravitated towards touch, the way he melted into LeBron’s. 

“Shut up,” Steph breathed out desperately. LeBron smirked and cupped his jaw again, pulling him towards him. He let Steph take the lead for a moment (pass the ball down the court), allowing him to press their lips together at his own pace, but then LeBron made his move, keeping Steph’s thighs wrapped around his hips, and twisted them around so Steph was on his back against the couch, LeBron lying over him between his legs.

_He slips past the defenders._

Steph looked up at him, unconcerned with the tilt in power, only trying to reconnect their lips. He whined as LeBron grabbed his jaw, made him lie back pliantly beneath him. The arousal in his eyes was blatantly easy to read, and LeBron could feel him half-hard against his hip. He didn’t pay any attention to him, just chasing what he wanted. 

He pressed down with his thumb on Steph’s lower lip, and Steph’s tongue automatically came out to lick at it, to try and suck it into his mouth, before he realized what he was doing and stopped, embarrassed. He tried to look away, but it was hard to avoid LeBron — with the position they were in, he’d be surprised if Steph could see anything other than him, could see that the room existed beyond his large shoulders. “Don’t be shy,” he said, laughing. “C’mon. I saw you with your mouthguard out there on the court.”

“Gross,” Steph mumbled. But he didn’t complain, allowing LeBron to flick his finger against his lip, and then chased it with his tongue, causing arousal to build in Lebron’s lower body as Steph sucked on his fingers, wrapping his lips around them like—

Which was an alluring thought. Another time, maybe. He wanted to be inside Steph, quickly, too badly to allow for any detours. Smearing spit across Steph’s lips and chin, he withdrew his fingers and reached down to grab the hem of the younger man’s t-shirt, pushing it up and over his chest. Steph lifted his shoulders to allow LeBron to pull it off of him completely. He was so much smaller — it was even more obvious now, making LeBron feel like he could do anything, crush him, pin him down, grab both his wrists in one hand, and just keep him there.

Steph shivered beneath him in the cool air as if he could hear LeBron’s thoughts. “‘S cold in here,” he said, rolling his hips up against LeBron’s incidentally as he tried to get more comfortable beneath him. “Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked as LeBron stared down at him, unreadable, not saying anything.

LeBron ignored the second half of what he’d said, shifting to press his thigh between Steph’s legs and up. Steph’s breath hitched and his hands came up to clutch needily at LeBron’s sides. “If it’s so cold in here, why’s your face red?” he asked, smirking at Steph’s answering eye-roll. Quieting whatever snarky retort the younger player had been about to offer, he pressed his lips against his again, heated and wet, the only sound in the room that of their bodies moving against each other, the obscene smack of their lips.

He reached down and palmed Steph’s dick over his shorts as they continued to kiss, appreciating the whine that met his lips in response. “C’mon, get these off,” he said as he tugged at the waistband of Steph’s shorts, drawing back and giving him room. Steph hesitated briefly, but lifted his hips up and pulled his shorts off and down to his thighs, kicking them off onto the floor. 

LeBron quelled any second thoughts he might’ve been having by wrapping his hand around Steph’s dick, fully hard, thumbing over the head. Steph quieted instantly, toes curling against the couch and his knees tightening around LeBron’s hips as his body reacted to the touch. “Ah—’Bron—” he gasped out.

He looked like the definition of easiness, spread out naked on the couch of a hotel room that wasn’t his, and it made LeBron’s stomach twist violently, possessive, and hungry. 

“When was the last time somebody fucked you?” he asked, continuing to stroke his dick up and down slowly. Steph groaned, throwing his head back, rocking his hips into LeBron’s hand.

“Dunno,” Steph forced out. “A while.” 

Not since college, LeBron took that to mean. He had no ownership over Steph, technically no right to feel possessive, but that didn’t stop something in him from curling up in satisfaction that he’d be the first person to fuck Steph in a long time. In his imagination, he could already feel Steph around his dick, tight and willing, the best feeling besides basketball. 

“You gonna let me fuck you?” LeBron asked. Steph let out a groan beneath him, hands sliding up LeBron’s chest, over his tattoos, the swirling black ink. 

“I—yeah,” Steph said. “Whatever you want.” With the way he was looking up at him, it was easy to believe the truth of his words, that in that moment, Steph would’ve let him do whatever he wanted to him. It was an unbelievable rush of power for LeBron, who felt like he’d just brute-forced his way to the basket and was a second away from laying it in off the glass. 

“Get my fingers wet, then,” he said, pressing two of them between Steph’s parted pink lips as he sucked around them, wet and sloppy, before rolling Steph over onto his stomach, shoving his thighs apart with his knee. It felt incredibly natural, like LeBron had done this with him before, as Steph didn’t protest an inch, just spread his legs apart wider to give LeBron easier access. “I’ll go slow,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” Steph mumbled, his face half-smushed into a couch cushion. “I’m—I can take it.” 

He said it as easily as if he was trying to convince LeBron to go hard against him in a one-on-one game, to not make things easy for him, to play as tough against him as he would anyone else. Like he had something to prove. “I know you can,” LeBron said, his voice coming out deep, fragmented. He had Steph Curry beneath him, telling him he wanted LeBron to fuck him hard, to give it to him rough, and even though he hadn’t said it like that, had just implied it, it was one of the most obscene things he’d ever heard, and he had to stop himself from—from—he didn’t know what.

LeBron pressed two fingers into him slowly, knowing that although spit didn’t work as lube, not really, this was how he liked it, and Steph had just promised him he could take whatever LeBron gave him. Steph was so tight, as he worked him open, squirming beneath him as LeBron curled his fingers slightly inside of him, letting out breathy noises at each movement. 

He added another finger just as Steph got comfortable, pressing inside him hard and deep, and Steph let out something akin to a sob, rocking his hips forward against the couch beneath himself, hands fisted in the material. “‘Bron, please,” Steph said, clenching down against his fingers. 

LeBron let his hand come down hard on Steph’s ass, resulting in a satisfying smack that resounded through the room. He laughed at Steph’s resulting groan, hiding his own desperation to get inside him, and pulled his fingers out. “Come on, baby,” he said, running a hand up Steph’s back to wrap around the nape of his neck. “Ask me for it.” He tugged down his own shorts with one hand, freeing his hard dick and letting it rub up against Steph’s hole. 

“Please, LeBron,” Steph begged, trying to cant his hips backwards. “Fuck me, come on, fu—” 

He didn’t wait for Steph to finish talking before shoving into him, rougher than could feel good for Steph, but for him, it felt better than anything he’d experienced in a long, long time, pressing in another inch until he was fully slotted inside of him. Steph was gasping beneath him, letting out pained whimpers that were half-muffled by the couch, but increased in volume as he began moving a few seconds later. 

He set a fast pace, pounding into Steph’s tight body arched underneath him. Steph was incoherent, trying to pull away to escape the pain, but LeBron’s body weight held him down, keeping him pinned against the couch, right where LeBron wanted him. 

“You said you can take it,” LeBron reminded him, roughly, stubble rubbing against Steph’s smooth cheek as he spoke into his ear. “You backing out?”

“I—fuck off—I can take it,” Steph twisted out, as LeBron wrapped his arm under his hips, moving him forward so his head was resting on the arm of the couch, his hips elevated to give him a better angle. 

Still, Steph screamed silently as LeBron pulled out partially before shoving back in, his hole clenching around him desperately. LeBron leaned forward over him, his chest pressed against Steph’s back, the smaller man’s muscles tense from the rough treatment, continuing to fuck into him.

“You sure?” he asked, smirking even though Steph couldn’t see his face. He sounded more controlled than he was, feeling one second away from falling apart, burying himself deep inside Steph.

Steph groaned, angling his neck to look back at him. “I said I was—”

LeBron grabbed his hips and pulled him back, forcing Steph to support himself with his hands. He was able to get even deeper inside him, somehow, and he didn’t have to wonder how Steph was feeling — the other man was as loud as ever beneath him, moaning with each thrust, his dick hard and leaking between his legs.

“Yeah, you can take it,” LeBron grunted out, pulling all the way out and shoving back into him. “Good boy.” 

Steph’s whole body shuddered beneath him at that and LeBron grinned. 

“I’m not—” Steph forced out as he wrapped a hand around his throbbing dick, finally, starting to jerk himself off messily beneath LeBron. “Not gonna last much longer.” 

“C’mon, baby,” LeBron said, heat swirling in his stomach with the picture of how Steph must’ve looked beneath him, fucked out and desperate, barely able to get any words out. “Come for me.” 

And Steph did, seizing up beneath him, letting out a heated gasp as he came, arching back against LeBron. Steph’s hole clenched around him as he came, enough to have LeBron cumming a second later, spilling inside of him, tiredness finally starting to set in as he collapsed on top of Steph, pressing him into the couch. 

“You’re crushing me,” Steph complained, and LeBron laughed, exhausted. He smacked Steph’s ass as he pulled out, finally, keeping Steph’s legs spread open to see his cum leak out of the younger player’s hole, onto his upper thighs. 

“You look good like this,” LeBron said after a few seconds had passed, Steph seemingly unable to move, so sore and worn out. He thumbed over Steph’s hole, slick and wet, and Steph finally got embarrassed, calling him gross and forcing LeBron out from between his legs, saying now he needed to take another shower, saying he wouldn’t be able to move for the next week. 

LeBron kissed him to shut him up and Steph’s protests were stifled, his cheeks turning red, still embarrassed. “Cute,” he said, as Steph eventually shoved him away, limping away and saying he was going to take a shower. He cleaned himself up while Steph was out of the room, noticing that they’d somehow managed not to get the couch dirty, feeling like he could sleep for a week after that.

Sleep for a week, and dream the whole time of Steph, of what he’d look like if LeBron had shoved him down to his knees instead, fucked his throat, cum on his face. If he was younger, he knew he would’ve been getting hard again, ready to go the second Steph got out of the shower, but he really just wanted to sleep. 

Anything else could wait. He had a hard time imagining this being a one time thing, but their schedules were so differently, they would rarely be in the same city at the same time.

“You want to stay over?” LeBron asked, as Steph returned from his second shower just in shorts. “I got to get out of here pretty early tomorrow, though.” 

“That’s fine,” Steph said, shivering in the cold air. “I don’t mind getting up early. You might have to carry me to get me in bed, though. I don’t know if I can move.” 

And LeBron did carry him to bed, Steph wrapping his thighs around the taller man’s waist and allowing him to pick him up, throwing him down into bed and rolling over until he was comfortable, winding up with his back against LeBron’s chest, LeBron’s arm thrown over his waist heavily, the room black as night and silent except for Steph’s heartbeat he could hear through his chest.

—————————————————————

LeBron was momentarily confused when his eyes opened the next morning, blinking slowly as his alarm blared into his ears at the fact that there was still someone in his bed, until he blearily remembered that Steph had spent the night. He quickly unlocked his phone and silenced his alarm, rolling back over face-to-face with the younger man who was now fully awake, smiling amusedly at the curse he had let out in the direction of his phone. 

“Morning,” Steph whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the shitty air-conditioning unit next to the window. 

LeBron just grunted in response. He wasn’t much of a morning person, and they had a flight out of town in a few hours.

He rolled out of bed quickly, feeling like he was submerging himself in ice-cold water (better to get it all over with at once rather than slowly), squeezing Steph’s shoulder on his way into the bathroom, moving on auto-pilot as he stepped into the shower, wincing at the initial cold water, showering as efficiently as ever, not a thought in his mind until he stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist.

Steph was still sprawled out on his stomach tangled up in the sheets, having somehow fallen back asleep despite the noise LeBron had made moving around. It went against every instinct in his body not to fall back into bed with him, slide inside him for a second time, have a repeat of what had happened the night before, but he managed it, brushing his thumb over Steph’s jaw roughly enough to wake him up.

“Sorry I gotta kick you out so early,” LeBron said, voice gravelly with disuse. “I’m leaving in a bit, so you gotta be outta here too.” 

Steph groaned as he sat up slowly, grabbing his t-shirt from the floor and pulling it on over his head in one smooth motion. “S’okay,” he grumbled. “Thanks for letting me sleep over.” 

LeBron smirked. “Course. I ain’t kickin’ you out after you took me so good last night,” he said, appreciating the way Steph blushed despite rolling his eyes in response.

Steph slowly managed to fully wake himself up as LeBron dressed, making sure his stuff was all packed. 

“When’s the next time we play y’all?” LeBron asked as Steph sat down and began reluctantly tugging on his tennis shoes. He couldn’t help but feel a twist of pride in his stomach at the way Steph was having a little trouble moving, wincing as he sat. The other player could be sore for days, and every time his muscles twinged in protest, he’d have to think of LeBron. He probably had bruises on his hips, too, undeniable marks of what had happened.

“I have no idea,” Steph said, groaning at the idea that he might be expected to know something so early in the morning. “Why?” 

“I’ll text you the next time we have a game,” LeBron said. “If you play well, maybe we can do this again. I might let you suck my dick if you’re real good.” He watched how Steph’s eyes dropped unthinkingly to LeBron’s dick, before snapping back up to his face, embarrassed, his cheeks turning red. 

“We’ll see,” Steph muttered, grudgingly fond.

—————————————————————

**Two months later**

The game had just ended. Another loss against the Cavs, but Steph barely minded it. Anticipation had been bubbling up inside him ever since that morning, thinking of LeBron’s promise the last time they’d met. Every time he’d met LeBron’s eyes while on the court, he’d felt his face grow hot, although he’d tried to hide it, and he’d kept checking his phone. He was leaning against a wall in the locker room when his phone dinged, and he jumped, feeling guilty for some reason, as he unlocked it.

_where u at? i been waitin for this for a while_

Steph kicked his shoe against the ground, almost angry at how easily LeBron could get him worked up, how the other man knew how much Steph wanted it. But, that didn’t stop him from responding instantaneously, fingers flying as he typed—

_imma meet u at yalls locker room_

He smiled to himself as he began the long walk to the visitor’s locker room, unable to help it. He couldn’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> re-post to fix a few things. also, reading this back, it's embarrassingly obvious what a big steph curry fan i am :/


End file.
